I watched a man once cast his line into a muddy creek near the town square, yet he stared so intently at the water that he missed the stone skipping beneath his very nose. He claimed to seek fish, but his eyes were fixed on the shadow of his own vanity, hoping the reflection would tell him something about himself that the creatures in the stream could not reveal. To fish for a pout is one thing; to fish for an identity crisis is another, and the hook catches nothing but the silt of our own anxieties.

Now, when you stand by any river or pond, do not look only for the catch that fills your basket, but ask what dark thoughts are drifting beneath the surface of your own nature. If you find nothing but mud, let it be known that you have cast your line with honesty. True solitude is not the absence of other men, but the presence of a clear mind that sees the world as it is, without the bait of fear or desire weighing down the spirit.